The Wine Glass
by butterflydreams04
Summary: In which Natasha is deadly, but what else is new; Tony is targeted, but that got old fast; and Steve somehow comes to a different conclusion. Or, for once Tony doesn't want a drink and his teammates will do anything to have that decision respected.


**The Wine Glass**

 **Summary:** In which Natasha is deadly, but what else is new; Tony is targeted, but that got old fast; and Steve somehow comes to a different conclusion. Or, for once Tony doesn't want a drink and his teammates will do anything to have that decision respected.

 **Rating:** M

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own the Avengers or any element of the Marvel Universe.

Steve was still getting used to life during the twenty-first century when he was thrust into the life of an Avenger. The Battle of Manhattan and the whole Loki situation constituted great practice, and Steve discovered that being an Avenger looked a lot like being a soldier, and he easily fell back into the familiar motions.

Steve was still being used to life as an Avenger when he was told he would need to learn the life of a celebrity.

That part came with more difficulty. Before accepting the serum, Steve had been _nothing_ ; a rat in back-street Brooklyn. After that, he'd been nothing but a celebrity – the Man with a Plan – but that career hadn't sailed for long and it crashed down in a heap of disdain and humiliation. So Steve preferred to evade the limelight and focus on the mission, leaving the press to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Tony.

However, he realized now that he should have considered that the kind of celebrity life that was expected of him would hold less fanfare and short skirts, and would match the elegant yet snobbish I-don't-care-attitude of Tony Stark.

Steve once had the time to contemplate Howard Stark. An ambitious man, with revolutionary ideas, and trustworthy in Steve's opinion for having contributed to the development of the Super Soldier Serum. Steve had respected Howard, had shared camaraderie with the man, and had even been jealous of his laid-back flirting with any kind of woman. Howard Stark had been a symbol in Steve's mind; the symbol of the Rich American Man in all his perfectness and glory, only redeemed by his genius and genuine curiosity.

There was only a hint of Howard peeking from under the overwhelming mannerism of his son. Tony had the same flamboyant man-of-the-hour persona of his father, believing everything to revolve around him, creating his own unique universe where he was the lone sun; but Howard had worked towards a noble goal, he hadn't insulted politicians, he hadn't abused his power, money and position, he hadn't relished the glow of his status.

But Steve wouldn't – couldn't – judge. After the altercation on the Helicarrier and the willing sacrifice of Tony Stark in New York, Steve had allowed himself to doubt his thoughts and decided to wait and explore the territory before coming to a definite conclusion. He'd judged Stark on the Helicarrier, had stripped him of the title of hero that the man had earned himself, and while Steve wasn't completely convinced of Tony's integrity, he was willing to endure his teammate if only because Iron Man was reliable in a crisis.

At times, however, Steve's skills in the social department were tremendously challenged because of his new celebrity status. The latest party the Avengers had been invited to was more of a gala gathering the most prestigious figures in New York City. For the occasion, Tony had outfitted all the men – even Thor – in impeccable three-piece suits, insisting that the event required it and that it was a great opportunity to equip his friends' frankly horrifying wardrobes.

Clint, standing next to Steve when Tony had launched into his speech, had grumbled something unsavory. They all had been ready to refuse, even Bruce who dreaded the prospect of Tony picking his clothes, but for once in Tony's life, Pepper had condoned his idea.

Now Steve had met his fair share of strong woman – Peggy warmly came to mind – and he could safely put Virginia Pepper Potts in that category. Not only did she manage Stark Industries and the Avengers, but she also put up with Tony Stark, for free, and retained her sanity. A great exploit if Steve had seen any. So Steve found himself in the obligation to respect her like herespected Peggy – as an independent working woman stuck with a group of dysfunctional men with egos larger than themselves.

And when Pepper finally arrived to New York, entered the common room where Tony had summoned them for his sermon – Natasha, for her part, looked quite amused – she'd taken a look at Clint's black attire and Thor's leather armor and decided that Tony was right.

"This time, only," she corrected when Tony became smug about it.

So it was that the next day, when the Avengers entered the ballroom of the Four Season Hotel, they were all elegant and properly dressed in tailored suits, just like Tony had promised. Tony himself was similarly dressed, and dragged Pepper towards the growing crowd as soon as they had stepped inside the lavishly decorated room, leaving his teammates with a last order to "Behave, children!"

In the midst of muttering men around her, Natasha, fabulous in a red dress – she'd taken all of them but Clint by surprise when she'd finally emerged from her room, and to his shame, Steve had a hard time not looking at her – gripped Clint's arm and walked away with him.

Steve and Bruce decided that sitting at their table was probably their best option once they'd managed to lose Thor only to find him raiding the bar. The god had only mildly reassured them by asserting that Midgardian beverages were like water down his throat, but his two teammates had preferred not to take any risks in public.

Natasha and Clint soon joined them. It was obvious that they were enjoying themselves and Steve wondered if they'd ever had the opportunity to attend such an event without the burden of a mission. Bruce had already confessed to Steve that he was not comfortable with large gatherings.

"Especially if the guests are important," he'd stressed. "If the Hulk smashes them, it won't be pretty for me."

After that, Steve decided that he'd watch out for any signs of impending doom by sticking very close to Bruce.

A few minutes later, Tony gallantly invited Pepper to sit before settling beside her. They discussed company interests and press management while Steve tried to understand half of their conversation. Tony's ludicrous comments and sarcastic remarks were far more annoying to Steve than they seemed to be to Pepper who just went on as if she hadn't heard them. She was probably used to ignoring them.

Just when Steve had given up, a man approached their table, regally fitted in a grey suit and a red bow tie. Steve saw Pepper nudge Tony who looked like he wished he were invisible. When he grimaced and turned to Pepper in outrage, it was obvious that she'd just kicked his leg under the table. "Edward, what a surprise," Tony said once the man was close enough. He stood, clasped the newcomer's hand, and launched into a quiet conversation that wasn't as pleasant as Tony seemed to make it.

"Edward Hamilton. He's old money in England," explained Pepper in a low voice while the two men conversed behind her. "Tony likes him as much as he likes anyone in the business, but they've had a few disagreements in the past."

The next events happened too fast for even Steve's trained eye to register them correctly.

Natasha, however, was foolproof.

Just as Tony was sitting down, meaning to end the discussion with Edward Hamilton, a waiter, holding an expensive looking bottle of wine, reached their table and began filling their empty glasses. Steve thanked him absentmindedly. Before the man could reach Clint, Thor had already asked for a refill, and the waiter, looking quite put out, obliged.

"Edward, it's been a blast, really," Tony was saying, and Steve flinched at the amount of sarcasm infused into the simple sentence, "But I've a table to entertain, surely you understand."

"Of course," Edward replied, then insisted on getting introduced to Tony's new group of "friends".

By then, the waiter was slowly filling Natasha's glass, unabashedly flirting with her. And while she smiled shyly, Clint's smirk told Steve that she was nothing short of playing along for the sake of the poor, poor waiter.

"And this is Thor," Tony continued, "he's a god from another Realm, so if you want my advice, it's better if you don't piss him off."

Steve wondered how Tony could possibly employ such vocabulary with fellow businessmen, at an event of such magnitude no less, then he considered that maybe growing up in this kind of environment had simply killed any reserve Tony might have had were he another normal person. This kingdom of gold and jewels was his playground ever since he was a child, so maybe Tony really didn't think much about it when he adopted such normal – in his standards, mind you – behavior among the socialites.

"And this is Captain Rogers. Steve, wave!"

Steve, caught unaware, was pulled out of his thoughts by Tony's voice, only to find the billionaire staring at him with a wide smile that failed at being innocent and Edward Hamilton scouring every inch of his face with narrowed dark eyes.

"Ah… Mister Hamilton, good evening," Steve said hurriedly.

Pepper smiled indulgently from her seat next to Tony. Steve desperately cast her a pleading look, utterly lost on how to proceed – and God forbid that he be roped into doing this again by Fury – but Hamilton saved him the hassle of coming up with another word.

"The Captain, then," he said with a bland smile. "It is quite the surprise. _You_ are quite the surprise, frankly. It's good to have a dedicated man such as yourself in our world yet again. We need more people like you, heroes like you."

There was an edge to Hamilton's tone that Steve didn't like one bit, but he blamed it on the British accent.

"Yes, thank you," he replied. The snort from Clint assured Steve that he could have done a much better job than the automated words. Hamilton, thankfully, wasn't perturbed by Steve's conciseness, and merely drew Tony's attention again. The waiter approached and made to fill Tony's glass. The billionaire used the opportunity to leave Hamilton's sentence hanging halfway and turned to gulp his drink.

Steve's eyes almost bulged out, but Bruce merely sighed at his friend's antics, and dropped his head.

The waiter's face morphed in his nervousness, and he dipped the bottle in Tony's direction. "Another one, sir?"

Tony, of course, nodded, as much for the distraction as for the benefits of alcohol. Glass still held up to the waiter who was slowly filling it, Tony turned to Hamilton when the english man tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

A second later, Natasha, a flaming blur of red, was on her feet, her face murderously cold, and her gun – God knows from where she'd summoned it – in the waiter's face. "What did you just do?" she hissed, enunciating the words so slowly and carefully that they could have been meant for sensual purposes only had she not looked so deadly with a gun in her hand.

The waiter, for his part, let the bottle drop with a crash of glittering glass. He froze, eyes drawn to the endlessly dark barrel of the gun pointed at him. His prolonged silence, however, woke suspicions in Steve that Natasha's reaction might have been out of something other than paranoia.

Clint warily rose from his seat. He swiftly and casually drew his gun from his jacket pocket, as if he was just handing his business card to a customer. In a sense, that must have been it. The chattering in the room, initially quiet if not punctuated with a few high-pitched laughs, grew to a tense silence then hurried whispering as the scene attracted more attention from the guests.

Steve felt his old instincts surge up inside him. He knew Natasha was beyond competent, and Clint followed her lead with complete trust in her assessment. He stood up, glancing at Bruce to make sure he wasn't turning green. Thor was massaging his hand beside him. Tony, bewildered, let his hand drop, and the wine raged like an ocean inside his crystal glass, leaving trails of crimson on the white tabletop.

"Natasha," Steve called warningly.

Natasha smiled, her eyes never leaving the waiter's. She was so close to him she could feel his panicked breath on her neck, so close she could have been wrapped around him, coiled like a serpent ready to suffocate him, snap the breath out of his lungs. She leaned forwards still, and spelled her words out like a song, her lipstick blood on her lips.

"What did you think you were doing?" she breathed so softly that Steve struggled to hear her even with his enhanced senses. "What were you thinking when you slipped poison into that man's drink, while he had two highly trained assassins sitting right next to him? Or did you not know? Did you think we wouldn't notice?"

Steve frowned, his lips parting with no words to slip between them. He shared a stunned look with Bruce and Thor – the god had risen to his feet, his arm slightly raised, sharp blue eyes snapping from one person to the other, waiting for a sign.

By the time Clint had aimed his gun at the waiter, the guests were already hurriedly leaving, some shrieking in fear. Security was already inside the room, alerted by the hotel staff – those who weren't assigned to supposedly murder the guests – and was doing a good enough job of leading everyone uninvolved outside before the situation grew more dangerous.

Tony had considerably paled at Natasha's words, Steve suddenly realized. He was staring at his wine glass like all else amounted to nothing, didn't exist. Just him and the wine glass, all innocent and deliciously tempting.

"Tony," Pepper called, her voice quivering.

All heads snapped towards her – all except Natasha and her prey's – to discover, to their utter horror, that yet another firearm disappeared inside Pepper's curl. "It would be a shame," Edward Hamilton started, his arm steady, "to lose such an adorable woman in a misfortunate accident. Please, lower your gun."

The order was directed at Clint, who gritted his teeth and fought against his every instinct and every instruction drilled into him to slowly put the gun down on the table. Pepper's breath hitched, but she didn't make another sound and her face masked her terror. "Tony," she breathed again, more steadily, but they could all guess at her fear.

Tony, for his part, looked even more terrified, and he was as white as a sheet, trembling like a cracked leaf in the wind, his eyes wide in the middle of his frozen face. "Pepper, I got you," he whispered, his hand lacing with hers, intimately.

Edward Hamilton smiled emotionlessly. "Touching display, Mister Stark," he drawled. "Now if you don't want our dear Miss Potts to die, you might want to finish your wine."

"What did he put in the glass?" Steve asked, his voice hard as steel. He wasn't Steve Rogers, the Avenger, anymore. He was Captain America, the soldier. He was the man who had chosen to test a serum for the sake of his country. He was the man who sunk a plane onto the sea to see the Tesseract extinguished. He was the fearless man, out of time and out of nowhere Brooklyn, who had hated bullies.

And Edward Hamilton was nothing if not a bully.

"A little something to make our night more interesting," Hamilton replied, his eyes fixed on the wine glass. Steve, who had wondered how Tony – so sophisticated and smart – could be so socially inadequate in his own environment, now questioned the fact that Edward Hamilton – so distinguished and proper – could be a murder.

"Natasha," Steve repeated.

"I'm positive," she assured, her gaze never leaving the waiter in her deadly grasp.

Silence, heavy and bleak, crept over them as the Avengers shared glances in an attempt to formulate some sort of plan. Steve found himself tensing, desperate to solve the issue without having any of his teammates dying.

"What do you want?" Steve asked Hamilton. He could see Thor moving near him, while Bruce sat ramrod-straight, trying to control the green tinge spreading across his temples.

"I'm simply resolving a slight disagreement between me and Mister Stark. Nothing you should concern yourself with, Captain Rogers," Hamilton answered, his voice so calm he could be discussing the weather over tea. "Heroes like you should occupy themselves with more serious matters."

It stung. For some reason, the barb brought back Steve's first fight with Tony back on the Helicarrier. "Lower you gun," he pressed. "Six Avengers are sitting on this table. Don't think that you'll walk out safely."

Hamilton smiled. "Of course not. I am not disillusioned." He pressed the weapon harder against Pepper's neck, reached for the coveted wine glass and extended his arm towards Tony. "After you, Mister Stark," he drawled pleasantly.

"Tony, don't," Steve snapped.

Something – a dark shadow – passed over Tony's eyes. His gaze travelled between the glass offered to him and Pepper, who was mightily shaking her head in an effort to dissuade him.

But Steve knew it was futile. That man before him was no longer Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. That man was Tony Stark, an Avenger; the hero who had sacrificed himself to save the population of New York; the man who had invited the rest of his team – a bunch of homeless sought-after and accident-prone superheroes – to settle in his reconstructed home.

The man who was going to drink a glass to save the love of his life.

"Pepper, it's going to be alright," Tony said, his hand rising to reach for the wine glass while his eyes remained fixed on the terrified woman before him.

Steve spied movement on his right, and saw Clint reach for something under his tie. Tony stood up when Hamilton cruelly drew the glass upwards, thus breaking the handhold between him and Pepper, and levelled a glare worthy of Fury on the english man who looked unmoved.

"Alright," Tony said, extending his hand, fingers shaking, voice almost imperceptibly wavering, submission and resignation in his tone – and that tone was so inappropriate for Tony Stark that Steve almost screamed at him to stop talking. "Give it to me."

Tony did not once look up at the rest of his teammates. He shared a last look with Pepper, who was ready to melt into tears, before he resolutely fixed his gaze on the wine glass that Hamilton gleefully handed to him. Again, the world seemed to have stopped, ceased, simply disappeared, when Tony Stark was put before that wine glass. It was as if he really were the center of the universe, and that universe was crumbling with his choice – with his demise.

For a moment, Tony hesitated. His eyes flashed, perhaps with memories, or faded hopes for the future. He inspected the crystal in his hand, twirled the liquid inside it as if trying to discern the poison hidden in its waves, then closed his eyes with finality, and blew out a short breath that would probably be his last.

Tony Stark raised the glass to his lips.

Steve's world was also withering. But the soldier took over. And that was the reason why Steve wouldn't be able to recall the quick succession of events that followed that decisive moment; the rapid-fire actions that concluded this scene. Because Steve had melted away; and all that was left was the automated soldier.

After that night, Steve would never doubt the level of coordination achieved between the two assassins in their group. Clint drew a knife from under his tie, a silver blade that glinted under the chandeliers sailing overhead. At the same moment, something crashed on the other side of the vast room, and a blur whipped past the tables in their direction. In the blink of an eye, Natasha whirled around like a broken bird, smashed her gun against the waiter's temple, flew over him with an elegant swirl of her dress, and crashed her heels against the table.

Tony had stilled, and Edward Hamilton, suddenly panicking, whipped his gun towards Natasha. Too late he realized the distraction, when Clint's knife broke the wine glass in Tony's hand in a shower of multicolored stars, and Natasha pushed Pepper off her chair and out of the way, letting the other woman fall to the floor rather than have her in the firing line of a gun.

That left Natasha as Hamilton's obvious target in her moment of vulnerability and Steve as her last resort. Grabbing the golden plate set before him, Steve jumped on the table and intercepted the two bullets that Hamilton fired in Natasha's direction before Mjolnir, having finally reached Thor, cracked the english man's skull. The god looked at the broken body that fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings were suddenly and irrevocably cut, then at the mighty hammer he held, and finally rested his eyes on his team with a sheepish smile and guilty eyes. "I might have put too much into the swing," he declared with his booming voice.

That remark had the merit of immediately defusing the rising tension. Pepper rose unsteadily and hurried to Tony before smothering him with kisses. Tony laughed, a bit nervously in Steve's own opinion, but he'd regained some color. His fingers buried in Pepper's dress were trembling. Steve looked around at his teammates, his racing heart regaining a steadier rhythm as he contemplated the various possible endings to this night and the actual outcome.

"Guys."

Steve was the first to turn around, fast like a bullet, and thus the first to see green splotches extend over Bruce's face. The man was hardly calm, his breathing ragged as he stared at the body of Edward Hamilton lying no more than a few feet away. Steve decided that the rapidity of events must have been too hard for Bruce to digest before the Hulk registered the fight and struggled to emerge.

"Guys," Bruce repeated, urgency in his voice.

Steve's thoughts were whirling in his mind, snapping to life and withering like thunder, when Natasha once again proved herself to be the woman of action. Still standing on the table, she jumped gracefully, somehow managing not to snap her high heels, and trudged her way up to Bruce, looking as deadly as she'd been when she'd faced the waiter-assassin. She dropped her gun, grasped Bruce's face with both hands, and planted a kiss onto his lips.

Steve's life stuttered to a halt. His head automatically snapped to the side, where Thor stood with his mouth half-open in surprise before he let out a low whistle. Bruce visibly struggled, but Natasha deepened the kiss until Steve thought they would die of suffocation. When the two finally broke off, Bruce was panting and was totally non-green again.

Natasha looked very self-satisfied, her amused smile returning for the first time since the action had begun. "A woman can work as well as any heavy tranquilizer," she added by way of explanation. Thor and Steve nodded dumbly, while Clint snorted behind them.

Farther away, Tony and Pepper were engaged in their own romance. Steve, again, found himself blushing and turning away from the very private moment. He suddenly noticed that the gold plate he'd used as a shield was still in his hands. He turned it over, observing the dents made by the bullets, and realized that had the event not been so fancy as to use gold plates and had he been less skilled with a shield than he was they probably wouldn't be alive.

Security moved over to collect the body and evidence. Clint was already calling S.H.I.E.L.D., the resident government-approved organization to contact in case of an Avengers emergency. Fury wouldn't be happy at all, would joke in his own is-he-actually-serious humorless way that they should have let the man kill Tony before he did, and order Steve to write a report. All in a good day's work.

When Pepper agreed to let Tony out of her sight – mostly because the paramedics called on sight needed to check her out – he approached Natasha to thank her.

"I was just doing my job, Mister Stark," she replied with a look that Tony read much better than Steve did.

"Well, I should have put you on the security detail," Tony said. "But really, thank you. For Pepper, too."

Natasha smiled knowingly. "It's not every day that you refuse a drink, Mister Stark."

Steve stopped listening then and there. Thor was trying to explain to the agents who'd just arrived in appropriate black suits why he'd had to crash Edward Hamilton's brain with his hammer. Nearby on the polished floor of the hotel's ballroom, a deadly red stain glittered against the tiles, spreading under Hamilton's fractured skull.

Steve was surprised when Tony finally came to him after he'd checked on Bruce and spoken with Clint. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," Tony replied. "Thanks for that. Natasha'll say it was all part of her plan, but you really pulled through back there."

Steve smiled awkwardly. "Yeah? I had a selfish reason for that."

"You did?"

"Sure. I'll let you think about it."

Steve didn't think there was need for excuses or promises. Not between the two of them. The team effort that they'd showed a few minutes ago didn't warrant any sort of formal gratefulness. They had simply protected one of their own; Steve hoped Tony would get that too.

And Steve thus left the bemused billionaire, and walked over to Bruce who seemed to have a hard time assimilating the truths behind Natasha's kiss. He looked up at Steve like the Captain held all the answers in the world.

"I…," Bruce trailed off.

Steve put a reassuring hand on the scientist's shoulder. "Don't worry, Bruce, it'll get easier."

He strolled past him with a little sense of shame for teasing a monster that could rip him apart for a kiss that he himself couldn't even bare to watch. Natasha had revealed herself quite deadly on many levels that night. Clint and Thor were still occupied, in the middle of a cluster of agents, when Steve reached them.

"Nice throw," he complimented.

"Thank you," they both replied. Their smug looks disappeared as they looked at each other with aggravated frowns.

"The both of you," Steve added, in the hopes of fending off any incoming and unwanted rivalry. Between the "who can eat more pop-tarts" and "who can sneak more food into his room" contests, the Avengers didn't need any more games to complicate their co-living.

The three of them stood in silence for a few minutes, watching Edward Hamilton's body and his accomplice being taken away. Steve considered that they would never know the reason behind the scheme orchestrated by the english man. He turned to search for Tony and found him standing, still as a statue, by the bloody flask of wine on the floor. He held a crystal cup in his hand, surprisingly filled with water. Steve watched as the billionaire stared long and hard at the poisoned drink rinsing the tiles, and for the first time noticed that the light of his arc reactor appeared slightly beneath his dress shirt.

Again, there was nothing in that instant but Tony Stark and the wine meant to kill him. And finally, eyes still on the wine, Tony threw back the crystal and drank the water with a grimace, as if the liquid was bitter on his tongue – and Steve supposed it must be.

And as Steve Rogers watched Tony Stark, looking pristine and unreachable even without his armor, he concluded that if this was the life of a celebrity, he could get used to it.


End file.
